“Hey, Dana, how’s it going?” he asked.
I’d given up on correcting him. If he ever introduced me to his friends, I figured it would be better if they didn’t know my real name anyway.
“Did you catch the X-Files marathon on the Sci-Fi Channel last night?” he asked.
“They’re still showing the marathon?” I asked.
This seemed odd to me. Television channels never ran a marathon for days on end. But maybe they’d made an exception for the X-Files—either that or Cliff was watching a DVD.
“Later, Dana,” he said, and ambled away.
Taylor was already in housewares cutting open the boxes stacked high on a U-boat.
“OMG!” she said, pulling out bundles of plastic wrapped place mats. “I can’t believe I’m working in this department today!”
“I can hardly believe it, either,” I said, with considerably less enthusiasm.
“It’s like the RW,” Taylor declared, her eyes wide.
RW . . . RW . . . I could think of no text translation.
So far, this was the most interesting thing about my workday, which is kind of sad, but there it was.
I hate my life.
“RW?” I asked.
“The reverse world,” she told me. “You know, opposites.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, as if I understood. I didn’t, but this was easier.
“Yesterday I worked in women’s clothing on the other side of the store,” she said, gesturing like a flight attendant pointing out the emergency exits. “Now, today, I’m working here on the opposite side of the store. Get it? The reverse. The reverse world.”
Yeah, I got it, but I was sorry that I had.
“Did you make this up yourself?” I asked.
“OMG! NW!”
No way? I could have sworn she had.
“Life is all about opposites. You have to respect the reverse world,” Taylor told me. “You don’t like your hair blond, you color it brown. You don’t want to be fat, you get thin. You don’t want to live in America, you move to China. Understand? It’s SC!”
Taylor kept talking, but I drifted off, mindlessly stocking tablecloths and napkins on their designated shelf on the display unit. These boxes were lighter than the plates, but no more interesting.
Ty appeared in my thoughts, bringing all sorts of emotions with him. I didn’t know what to think or feel anymore. And, of course, there was no way to figure it out, since he hadn’t called.
I’d put my cell phone in my pocket but hadn’t felt it vibrate all morning. I checked it. Nothing.
Just because I’d told him not to ever, ever, ever call me didn’t actually mean I didn’t want him to call. He should have known that. He was my official boyfriend. Honestly, what sort of relationship was this?
I centered my thoughts on my upcoming trip to the upscale stores along The Strip and my hunt for the Delicious handbag, and my spirits lifted a little. I planned to attend a meeting of the handbag club Maya had told me about, so that made me feel a little better, too.
“Excuse me?” someone called.
Lost in thought, I reverted to sales clerk mode and immediately ducked down, then remembered where I was and stood up again.
A guy pushing a Z-rail of blouses smiled at me.
“The food is terrific at Bally’s Steakhouse Restaurant,” he said.
I just looked at him. He looked back.
“Okay,” I said.
He smiled, and went on his way.
Jeez, that was kind of nice. None of the employees had seemed all that friendly before—that whole dead-body-in-the-store thing had soured the mood, I suppose—but maybe that was changing. Preston must have mentioned I was from out of town this morning—maybe I should stop drifting off during meetings—and the employees who lived in Henderson were taking it to heart.
Evidence of Taylor’s RW—reverse world?
Weirder things had happened.
Another day of my life slipped away. I clocked out and headed for the front of the store.
“The Red Rock Resort is awesome,” a guy next to me said. “I think they have fireworks out there.”
“Fireworks are great,” I agreed.
He smiled and walked away.
“Dana, guess what happened,” Cliff said, falling into step beside me. “My car got stolen.”
I expected him to tell me it had been beamed up, but he didn’t.
“That’s too bad,” I said. “A car like that won’t easily be replaced.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said. “I needed to get something out of it for my afternoon break and, like, wow, man, it wasn’t in the parking lot.”
“Did you report it to the police?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure. I think. Well, I’m pretty sure . . . kind of.”
I felt bad that his car—such as it was—had been stolen. He’d taken me to get my tire fixed—though I wasn’t sure he remembered it—so I figured I owed him one.
Besides, I had nothing going tonight. Jack hadn’t told me his plans this morning and I hadn’t heard from him all day, so I figured I was on my own.
“Do you need a ride home?” I asked.
“Eric and Dwayne are picking me up,” Cliff said. “We’re investigating a sighting tonight.”
“A UFO sighting?”
“Aliens,” he said.
I imagined Eric and Dwayne rolling up in a lead-lined, early ’80s Winnebago with a green Martian painted on the back under the caption HONK IF YOU BELIEVE THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE.
“Eric saw them last night,” Cliff said.
“Aliens?” I asked. “Where?”
“The Rio.”
“The Rio Hotel and Casino in Vegas?” I asked.
“Everybody loves the buffet there,” Cliff said.
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Do you think the aliens stole your car?” I asked.
“Oh, man, I hadn’t thought of that.” Cliff slapped himself on the forehead. “Well, at least they didn’t get my field investigation kit. I had it at home. Or . . . I think it’s at home. Maybe.”
“I’m sure Eric or Dwayne will let you borrow theirs,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re tight like that,” Cliff said. “See you later, Dana.”
I held back a little and let him leave the store ahead of me—just in case Eric and Dwayne were waiting—then went outside. The parking lot in front of the store was emptying out. I stood by the door digging in my purse—a fabulous Gucci—for my keys, when a car whipped to the curb and hit the brakes.
My heart jumped. It was a gorgeous blue, BMW Z4 Roadster convertible. The top was down. Jack sat behind the wheel. I knew he owned a Land Rover. I’d never seen this car before.
“Must have been a cool ride here from L.A. in this,” I said and walked over.
He gave me his sexiest grin. “Want to go for a ride?”
“Go for a ride? No way. I want to drive it.”
His grin got sexier. He stepped from the car and eased close. I felt the heat from his body and smelled his cologne.
“You know what they say,” he whispered. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
Oh, wow. This was way hot.
Another car rolled to a stop, nosed up against Jack’s BMW. A black Lincoln Town Car. The driver’s side door opened. A uniformed chauffeur jumped out and opened the back door.
Ty got out.
CHAPTER 14
Ty and Jack spent a few minutes doing some male whose-is-bigger posturing, puffing out their chests, squaring their shoulders, stretching up to see who’s tallest—which was all really hot—while shaking hands and pretending to like each other. Jack left. The chauffeur drove the Town Car a few yards away and waited.
I wondered if I was looking at my future ex-boyfriend. Had he flown all this way to break up with me? Would he have sent me flowers if that were his intention?
Yes, he would. Aside from being a sometimes crappy boyfriend, Ty was still a nice guy.
My heart thudde
d in my chest, waiting for him to say something.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
His suit jacket hung open, his tie was pulled down, and he’d popped the top button on his shirt. A few strands of hair were out of place. This was the closest to disheveled Ty ever came.
He looked tired, too. Something more than just lack of sleep.
I should have been angry with him and, deep down, I was. But that warm gooey feeling in my stomach I always get when he’s around told me I still cared for him.
“I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend in the world. I know I haven’t treated you the way you deserve to be treated. I get that, and I’m sorry,” Ty said. “But I’ve always been up front with you about it. I told you from the start that I can’t be a twenty-four-seven guy.”
It was true. He’d said it the first night we’d been alone in his apartment and were about to make love, only to be interrupted by some problem involving Holt’s. We’d had this conversation before.
A wave of here-comes-the-breakup-speech swamped me.
Not a great feeling.
“That’s why we should move in together,” Ty said.
I just looked at him. Had I heard him right? I hadn’t drifted off or anything—at least, I didn’t think I had.
“If you move in with me, we’ll be together every night,” Ty said. “We’ll wake up together every morning.”
He wanted us to move in together? For real?
“I can’t be the guy who’s always there, Haley. But I can give you a comfortable life.” He shook his head, looking troubled. “I didn’t know you were struggling with your school expenses. I thought you had it covered.”
Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear him say that. Last thing Ty knew, I’d come into a whopping big sum of money—long story—and he probably figured I still had it. I’d never gotten around to telling him that the money was long gone.
He grinned a little. “I know you well enough that you didn’t ask your parents for it.”
I grinned back. He knew me pretty well, for sure.
“I can pay your college tuition. Books, fees, everything,” Ty said. “You’re just about to graduate by now, aren’t you?”
No way was I answering that one.
“I’ll cover everything,” he said. “Rent, your car payment. You can go to school full time. You can quit work.”
My heart leaped. Quit my job at Holt’s? Could my dreams really come true?
Ty eased a little closer. “I wouldn’t care how much money you spent, Haley. You can buy whatever you want.”
Now I was speechless.
“I don’t want to lose you, Haley. You’re the magic in my life. Please say you’ll move in with me.”
I guess he mistook my stunned silence as reluctance.
He nodded. “Think it over.”
I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.
“Just promise me you’ll think about it,” Ty said.
He touched his palm to my cheek. My knees wobbled.
“I’ll take care of you, Haley. You’ll never want for anything. I swear.”
He leaned down and kissed me. Not a hot we’re-about-to-make-love kiss. This one was tender, caring, loving.
“I have to go,” Ty said.
That snapped me out of my move-in-together stupor.
“Already?” I asked. “You just got here.”
“I have a meeting.”
Oh my God. Ty had flown all the way here from Los Angeles just to tell me these things in person? Wow.
“I’ll give you a ride to McCarran,” I said. The airport was only a few miles away, but it would be great to spend the time together.
“The jet is waiting for me,” Ty said, and gestured for the Town Car.
I’d seen a sign for the Henderson Executive Airport on St. Rose Parkway.
“The jet?” I asked. “You own a jet?”
“Holt’s owns it, technically,” Ty said.
The Town Car rolled up. The chauffer hopped out and opened the rear door.
“Come to L.A. with me,” Ty said.
“What—now?”
I was as spontaneous as the next gal—and I’d always wanted to join the Mile High Club—but I wasn’t ready to go along with Ty’s plan just yet. And, of course, I was a murder suspect and had been told not to leave town.
No reason to mention that to Ty.
“I’ve got a lot of thinking to do,” I said.
He nodded. “Think about where you’d like to live. We can buy a new place, wherever you want. Do you like the beach?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll call you,” Ty said. He gave me another kiss—a quick one—got into the Town Car and pulled away. I watched him disappear onto Valle Verde.
What the hell had just happened?
Something stronger was definitely called for after the conversation I’d just had with Ty, but I settled for a mocha frappuccino. I went through the Starbucks drive-through and headed for the Culver Inn.
Honestly, I could barely stomach the thought of going in that place right now. It wasn’t particularly pleasant under the best of circumstances, and at the moment it seemed especially dismal.
Jack had been in my room last night, and I knew he wouldn’t come back tonight. Yes, I knew it was for the best, and that he was taking the high road—even though he’d showed up at Holt’s wanting to take me for a ride in a hot sports car. But the point was that we were both respecting my relationship with Ty. Jack would expect that Ty would be with me at the Culver Inn tonight or, more likely, that he’d take me to someplace really fabulous.
Only Ty wouldn’t be here, either.
Just moments ago I’d had two—count them, two— really hot guys orbiting me like smoldering fireballs, and now both of them were gone. So here I was, alone, self-medicating with a mocha frappuccino, trying to find a way to fill my evening.
What’s up with my life, anyway?
A chill swept over me—and it wasn’t from the frappuccino. That curse. That stupid curse. Could it really have caused all this?
I pulled into the Culver Inn parking lot, left my car in the check-in lane, dashed up to my room, and retrieved my laptop. On the way back through the lobby, I picked up a map of Vegas from the display of brochures by the elevator, got into my car again, and took off.
Last night the search pattern for the Delicious handbag I’d been formulating had been interrupted when Jack had shown up at my door, so I now intended to finish it.
Yeah, okay, I knew it wasn’t the most exciting way to spend my evening, but I didn’t have lots of choices here. It beat investigating an alien sighting with Cliff, Eric, and Dwayne, I guess.
Although the Rio buffet would be good.
If Marcie had been in town, we’d have gotten together with beer and snacks—heavy on the chocolate—and discussed this new chapter in my moving-in-with-Ty saga in depth. I hadn’t heard from her today, so I figured that meant her sprained ankle hurt too much and she was probably floating someplace above reality on prescription painkillers.
Lucky her.
I thought about calling Maya. She was my Henderson BFF, but I didn’t know her well enough to discuss the whole should-I-move-in-with-Ty situation. Besides, explaining our history would take forever.
Maybe it was for the best, I decided, as I sucked down the last of my frappuccino. I didn’t really know how I felt about moving in with Ty—or the things he’d offered to do for me. I needed time to process it.
I pulled into another—yes, another—Starbucks. Inside, I bought another mocha frappuccino—only because it was rude to take up space and not drink something, of course. Luckily, I had my pageant queen mother’s metabolism and could burn off calories quicker than a supermodel could make the turn at the end of a Paris catwalk.
I set up my laptop at a table by the window and got down to business.
The search for the Delicious handbag had proved more difficult and complex than I’d experienced before—which wa
s saying a lot. Truthfully, I’ve got mad skills when it comes to hunting down something important like a fabulous handbag.
Yet, oddly enough, I didn’t like looking for something that was lost—like keys, or a wallet, or a cell phone. The whole process irritates me worse than finding an expired 50-percent-off coupon at the bottom of my purse.
Probably just as well I didn’t work for the FBI’s missing persons bureau. My what-the-hell-they’ll-turn-up-sooner-or-later attitude probably wouldn’t go over very well.
Since I’d exhausted my usual search methods, I decided to kick up my pursuit of the Delicious to the next level—color coding. I broke out my marking pens and the map of The Strip.
Of course, before I started any project on my laptop—yeah, okay, mostly it was homework—I first checked my e-mail and my Facebook page. I saw that Stephanie Holden, Courtney’s Vegas friend, had contacted me.
Wow. That surprised me a little. Guess she and Courtney had been close if she was willing to talk to a stranger. I dialed the number she’d given me.
“Oh, yes, Haley, of course,” Stephanie said, when I introduced myself. She sounded tense and rushed. “I’m glad you—hang on.”
She covered the phone, then came back on the line.
“Look, I’ll talk to you,” she said, “but—wait a minute.”
Stephanie shielded the phone again. I heard muffled shouts in the background. She came back and said, “I don’t want any trouble. Is that clear?”
Less than a minute into the conversation and already I was lost.
“It’s clear,” I said, which wasn’t true, of course, but, oh well.
“I liked Courtney,” she said. “But friendships only go so far.”
I got a weird feeling.
“I did what I had to do. Can you understand that?” Stephanie asked. She sounded upset, a little desperate maybe.
Oh my God. Was she telling me she’d somehow been involved with Courtney’s murder?
I had no clue what the heck she was getting at so what could I say but, “Sure.”
“All right, then. Come over,” Stephanie said, sounding relieved. “I’ll explain everything that happened.”
She gave me her address. I wrote it on the map of Vegas in bright blue marker.
“After seven. Not before—not a minute before,” Stephanie said.
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